Complex
by calliecature
Summary: A group of repressed desires and memories that exerts a dominating influence upon the personality. Gazfic.


**This just popped into my mind when I was idly thinking stuff. Why **_**is**_** she like that?**

**This is just a twisted guess. I took the challenge of jumping to the possibility.**

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I'm not always like this.

I know what they call me. Dark. Scary. Freaky. These are just the mentionable. And what of "they"? The less you know won't make you safer but you'll be happier- for now.

It used to be just for Dib. But it got comfortable; I applied it to everyone else. The results were advantageous: they let me be.

Dad and Dib accepted it as who I am. Mr. Eliot simply marked it as a phase. The kids (including Zim) gave me a wide berth.

Unfortunately, there are ties that bind. What I am today was not enough for that idiot to leave me out of it or from that Irken with his harebrained ideas or from Gir with his stupid requests.

Stupid Dib.

I crack one eye at him from where he sat a distance beside me. _Mysterious mysteries _show is on and nothing can tear him off the couch when it's on air. I look back to my GameSlave and continued my killing spree.

Why can't he see that Zim's so bad at invading at all? If he leaves Zim alone, Zim will leave him alone. Then I wouldn't have to put up with Zim's histrionic witlessness or of Dib's self-absorbed oration of being the sole savior of the human race. I wouldn't have to get involved every time I have to drag him out of Zim's lab every Family Night.

I don't hate Dib.

I just hate how he prioritizes his alien hunting over the one night we get to spend with Dad. I hate his contrasting thickheadedness when he himself is a computer whiz beyond our time. I hate his vainglorious purpose of being sworn enemies to a third-rate scum who was probably here because his own race couldn't stand him. I can write a book about him with the same cogency of that author who made villages go into ailurocide because they have something to do with witchcraft. The only difference is, mine wouldn't be fictional at all.

And the one thing I can't stand most is how he treats me like I'm some kind of a journal for his main passion: the paranormal. Does my brother thinks I'm an eternal void that he can fill in with his crap?

It's not his fault he treats me like that, I'll admit. I don't see the need to talk, he does. He just didn't think our family has even been right. Even so, as siblings, he should see that there are things that more than meet the eye. I know I seem distant, showing only interest in pizza and videogames. I only seem to care if it threatens my world like Tak did or to get back at people including him. I know I only make contact- physical or not, to warn, to threaten and to hurt. I never actually did anything to show respect or care for him.

But for all his yakking, I do listen and even if I could stand eating alone in the cafeteria, I don't mind him. I know that if he thinks I'm in danger, he would fight tooth and nail to get to me because I'm "just a little girl".

Anyone normal with a brother would probably point out at him of Zim's incapability more than once. She would have tried to stop him every time he risks his life from something worthless. She would have a communicator that would receive his distress signal to faithfully rescue him from every tight spot he plunges into headfirst.

I'm not like that.

Anyone normal would show that she values her brother especially if he's the only family she's got if you'll exclude a father who loves science and publicity more than his inventions.

I don't want to.

I can always go back to the Gaz that is unlike me today. There would be a price to pay because people would get the satisfaction that I have seen the error of my ways and has come back to the right side- theirs. I can go back to how people would normally treat others and would normally care to people they should care about.

Fools. There are many ways to care for someone. Why do they have to enforce it to people who think so otherwise?

If I go back to being like that, then I would be more open to love. And I hate him for that. For it would remind me that I have once loved him as a boy.

My eyes flew wide open and before I knew it, my fist flew. A sickening crack. A cry of pain. From the receiving end, I found Dib 3 meters away from the sofa and flat on the floor, massaging his cheek.

"What was that for?" he whined indignantly, standing up. Funny, a year ago, he would have been knocked out unconscious. He must be getting used to my punches. I made a mental note to punch harder in the near future.

I growled, playing my Gameslave as though nothing happened.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry about what I did to your tacos, your pizza, whatever," he grumbled, climbing back to the sofa. This time, out of striking range.

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**One time, Gaz got into Zim's harebrained ideas by using her as an umbrella, I think its in The Wettening. The time Dib said that Gaz is "just a little girl" is in Gaz: taster of the Pork.**

**What if she's acting like that because she's repressing something? But please don't take this possibility seriously. I repeat, do not take this possibility seriously.  
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**This is not a romance or even incest because there has been no romantic or sexual interaction whatsoever. It's a complex. I am not going to put GSA in my other fanfics. This is just a "what if?" **

**Please review; I'm interested in what you think and your feedback would help me sharpen my writing skills.**

**If the story is not what you expect, you should have been warned by the title.**


End file.
